Two Roads Diverge
by EchoResonance
Summary: Sometimes two roads must part, if they are to meet other roads


There were some stories that would never be told. Mysteries that would never be solved. Companions who would be forgotten even by the Doctor after they left. People that would forget the Doctor after he left. Old injuries were half-forgotten, and although some weren't even true injuries, they remained with those people throughout most of their lives, believing that a trauma-inspired "wound" was an honest-to-God injury.

The Doctor didn't like goodbyes. He never had, and it broke his heart when his companions left him, although he couldn't find it in himself to stop them because he knew that it would be better for them to go. Some of them should leave, because they had other people, other responsibilities, other wonderful things to accomplish. Some of them had to, or they would most assuredly die. Some of them just got trapped, stuck in a place where they simply _couldn't_ travel with the Doctor any longer. However, this isn't one of those sad stories. No, this is a happy story. This is a story in which the Doctor sends his companion off to become someone else's, because not under all the skies in all the universes could there have been made a better match.

The TARDIS control room was as noisy as ever, full of flashing lights and beeping sounds and that little bit of smoke that no one could really trace back to any particular source. The sound of the TARDIS landing had just dissipated into the cool air outside, but inside, there was enough residual ambience to rattle one's senses just a tad. Leaning against the control panel was a tall, lean man in a long-sleeved burgundy jumper and a black leather duster. His hair was sheared nearly bald, and his ears stuck out a bit more than the traditional human sense of beauty could accommodate, not aided by his slightly beaky nose. His eyes were a bright, electric blue, full of life and energy, but overcast with a shadow, something lurking just out of reach that was incredibly hard to identify. Those who didn't know him well would figure it was just the unfriendly glare of a social recluse. Those who did knew that this wasn't the case at all. But that is a story for another time. This story is of a certain companion of his, one whose adventures were never recorded and who never met this man again in his lifetime.

"Are you sure?" the Doctor asked his companion. The man, a good deal shorter than the Doctor, nodded fervently.

"It was great fun," he assured the Doctor. "But this life...it just isn't for me. I can't keep up with you anymore, anyhow, what with all your running about."

"I'm tellin' you, it's all in your head!" the Doctor said, shaking his head. "Well, just go on out and take a walk. It'll help clear your mind."

"I told you, I'm not changing my mind," his companion said at once. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. You humans say that a lot, but that's the thing you do the most, isn't it? Changin' your minds on the turn of a dime. Go on, take a walk."

Smiling slightly and shaking his head, his companion exited the TARDIS, his walking stick clicking against the grated floor and the door swinging softly shut behind him. The Doctor's small smirk, which he had been wearing for his companion, grew into a big, bright smile, and he rushed to the screen on the control board, toggling those knobs there and then flipping these switches here until it came up. The reason he'd let that man leave so easily, with so little fuss. He would miss that great man, there was no doubt, but that great man was about to have a new adventure, one that would rival even those of the Doctor's, and the Doctor wouldn't dare make him late.

The screen came up at last, a little crackly but clear enough for him. He saw the back of his companion's head, a severe cut of red-brown hair, and zoomed in, being very careful not to lose him in the crowded streets of London. His walking stick seemed to clear a path through the people in front of him, and the Doctor laughed, knowing that his friend would hardly appreciate this insinuation that he needed the extra help from those strangers.

"Oh, I'll bet he loves that," the Doctor chuckled, panning around to see his companion from the front. Stern face, lips pressed tightly together in quiet frustration, a 'v' between his brows where he was trying and failing not to frown. Oh, yes, he was most definitely enjoying the special attention. His jacket was unbuttoned over a sand-colored, hand-knit jumper-not as nice as the Doctor's, of course-and his jeans were old and sturdy, well-worn and faded. The Doctor noticed idly that the man looked like he could have walked off the battlefield just that morning, with his mannerisms and stony demeanor. Maybe not the jumper so much, though.

He was in the park. People were milling about casually, some eating hot chips out of styrofoam containers and sipping coffees with friends, chatting irrelevantly about who was going out with who or which football teams would make the World Cup next time around. There was of course a little old woman sitting on a park bench, feeding the flock of filthy pigeons the stale bread crumbs from the loaf her son bought her and that she couldn't finish in time before the mold set in. There were children playing jumprope and hopscotch and men walking quickly along, carrying black briefcases and talking urgently into their mobile phones.

The Doctor's companion walked right past all of these people, these fascinatingly complex, diverse human beings, without even pausing to look at the wonder of them. He was too caught up in both the things he'd experienced before meeting the Doctor and all those afterwards to see the magic in his own front yard. That's why the Doctor had brought him back. There was a person in London that could help his friend. A person that his friend in turn could help. And that moment was coming, that inevitable, exciting moment where their paths would veer toward each other. All it took was one man. One outsider, sitting on a park bench, to glance up as the Doctor's companion limped by, and jump suddenly to his feet. The Doctor fought the urge to punch the air and whoop as that man straightened his glasses and called after the Doctor's companion.

"John? John Watson?"


End file.
